Pathos
by eternitysky
Summary: Yamato finds himself in the hospital as his life is literally turned upside down. /slight Taito/ /Picking up the Pieces 2/


I do not own Digimon, or the song Hurt. The song belongs to Nine Inch Nails. (But we all know Johnny Cash made it his own ;])

Again, excuse Yamato in this one.

This is the second in a series of one-shots called Picking up the Pieces.

**Pathos**

_-What have I become_

_my sweetest friend_

_Everyone I know_

_goes away in the end-_

Twelve hours, seventeen minutes and nine seconds.

That was how long ago Yamato had awakened, escaped from the confines of his mind, and for how long he had been awake. He was unable to fall asleep, constantly teetering on the edge of reality and subconscious. He was faintly aware of countless faces hovering over him in lapsed intervals; faces of his supposed doctors, his father, his mother and others that he could not place. It was painful to think of sleep (because in his sleep he could hear hers, his and his own screams, the screeching of the metal, the shattering of the glass) , but it was even more painful think of being awake (because it was reality). So he stayed awake, lying motionlessly in the hospital bed, eyes open but unseeing. He hadn't said a word to the other occupant of the room since he had arrived a little over an hour ago (at eleven hours, two minutes and twenty-nine seconds).

Taichi was just as motionless, hunched over in a cheap, plastic chair that the hospital had provided, hands clasped firmly together, resting at his mouth. He did not blink and kept his eyes focused on the numerous needles and tubes running through the paler boy's body.

Yamato hardly noticed Taichi's stare as his mind was raging its own battle. No matter how many times he counted and recounted the dots in the ceiling tiles or how many times the second hand moved past the number 12 on the clock above the door, he could not chase the memories out of his head (he wondered if they were even old enough to be called memories). He could not forget the terrible mid-air sensation and the crushing reverberation that came after. He could not forget the expression on Kano's face at the impact. Maddie's scream still rang through his spine and he wanted to cover his ears and scream himself just to get it out of his head. The blood still drenched his thoughts and there was nothing he could do to prevent that red from invading his heart and constricting his lungs.

And for the first time that day, lusterless sapphire eyes flickered over to Taichi, who had yet to move from his position.

And Yamato knew he should have been feeling guilt and even more pain at seeing his best friend in such a state. He knew the dark circles, bloodshot brown eyes and tensed shoulders were his fault, but he was so (sosososo) tired. His body and mind couldn't comprehend releasing another emotion and complication into the whirlpool that was spewing within him: a whirlpool of disbelief and pain and disgust that was already threatening to bubble over.

"They couldn't even do a proper blood test with all the coke in my veins." His voice cracked as he attempted a chuckle. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was surprised to hear himself so raspy and small.

Taichi's gaze fell on his face as the blond tilted his head back and closed his eyes, knotting his eyebrows in frustration.

"That is so fucking pathetic." Yamato continued as Taichi remained silent. He heard more than felt himself take a breath. Once, twice.

The brunet hadn't moved from his position, hands still firmly clasped at his mouth, but his eyes held a new intensity as he looked at the breakable figure of his best friend on the hospital bed and thought about how close he had been to loosing him.

"What's happened to me, Taichi?" Yamato's voice cracked again and tears gathered in his eyes and it was more like he was talking to himself. "Why am I such a stupid and weak person?" Taichi's body straightened at this and he leaned towards Yamato's bed, but the blond continued, "Oh God, oh _God_, it's all my fault. Kano, he-" and he couldn't bring himself to continue as he doubled over in pain.

"Yamato." Taichi's voice was soft and he tried to restrain himself from reaching a hand out to his best friend, afraid to make it worse. He wanted to call the nurse but was half convinced that she wouldn't be able to help.

The blond clutched at his sides as his torso started to burn. He became painfully aware of the scar forming there: a reminder of his collapsed lung and broken ribs and the operation preformed to reconstruct part of his ribcage. Along with his torso, his eyes and his mind burned at the thought of Kano, his band member and his friend, who had been there and whose blood would not leave his thoughts. His heart burned and his ears buzzed at the thought of Maddie and how he wished she hadn't come with them.

Through the muddy chaos he could hear Taichi call his name again. Then he felt Taichi's cool hand on his back and he felt Taichi's breath at his ear. And then he remembered to _breathe_.

Yamato gasped for breath and tears flowed freely from his eyes.

Taichi drew back his hand and sat back down, eyes intent on the blond. They sat in silence for a few minutes; because Taichi felt it was somehow needed and also because he really didn't know how to help Yamato.

Mostly, he just afraid of making it worse.

After those couple of minutes, when the blond's breathing returned to normal, he spoke again. "I would give up anything to bring him back." His voice was quiet, and Taichi wasn't sure to what extend Yamato meant that statement, but he was not about to argue. Instead, he moved his gaze to the other's hands, which were clutching tightly at the sheets. "I would give up all the money and all the fame that has come with this damned job to bring him back." He squeezed his eyes shut. "All of it is worth _nothing_ compared to his life."

"Yamato…" the brunet uttered once more, seemingly unable to say anything else. Taichi always had a problem of running his mouth, and he was deathly afraid to say something that might in some way upset the other.

"And Maddie…" he once gain cut himself off, unable to say anything more as the (somewhat) memories invaded his skull in fragments: terrible, black, little fragments that were thinner than air and sharper than pins and he could not help but let them through. He could once again hear the laughter that came just before the piercing screams and he knew Kano shouldn't have been driving with pot and a few lines in his system, but he was just as far gone as his band mate was. He could once again feel more than hear the sickening screech as their car collided with a passing truck and he knew that Maddie wasn't wearing her seat belt as they tumbled in midair. (_Yamato…)_And he could once again taste his own blood on his tongue and smell the coppery odor as he saw Maddie's red hair matted with the deeper red of blood and the unnatural placement of Kano's arm. (_Yamato._) And he could once again feel the burning pain at his side, which was nothing compared to the burning pain in his mind, in his heart and in his being at sight of Kano's face covered by a white sheet and at the sight of Maddie _not opening her eyes. _And why wouldn't she open her eyes?

And it was only after he knew of Maddie's coma and of Kano's death that he could wish the pain was only physical and that he had escaped with something more than a few broken ribs and a collapsed lung. (_Yamato!_)

And the brunet's hands were on his shoulders and his lips were moving and his eyes were wide with concern and traces of panic. He realized they were both shaking.

Yamato's sapphire eyes met Taichi's chocolate ones.

"Please, just breathe." The brunet whispered and his hands gently lingered on the other's shoulders. And Taichi knew that it probably wasn't the most meaningful or helpful comment he could have given at the moment, but he needed to say something other than the blond's name; something to make him more tangible, more than just that name: to somehow confirm that he was a person who was still very much there (at least he hoped. He hoped).

Another silence fell over the two.

Taichi took Yamato's hand and started tracing patterns across his palm, a small frown etched into his features.

Through the silence, Yamato's mind gravitated to Kano; the gentle and wildly talented Kano who had been with Yamato since the beginning. Kano, who according to others, was 'in a better place now'.

Yamato wasn't quite sure if he believed that.

Because maybe there was nothing after death: no heaven, no hell, no redemption and no peace. Maybe there was only blackness. Maybe people just made up the concept of 'a great beyond' and 'life beyond death' because they were petrified of the thought of this insignificant little existence being all there is. Maybe they refused to believe that once the heart stopped pumping blood, and the brain stopped transmitting neurons, there was nothing left.

Yamato's thought were interrupted by a rather tight squeeze of his hand by Taichi's.

"Don't say those kinds of things." The brunet brought the pale hand to his forehead and pressed his palms even harder against it. He curled his fingers around the long digits, being careful to avoid the tubing and needles coming out of his wrist. "You're still here, you're still alive."

The blond hadn't realized he'd been voicing his thoughts.

Damned morphine.

There had been countless times in their relationship where something Yamato had said alarmed Taichi, but rarely to such an extent, but never to a point where Taichi just wanted to steal Yamato away and lock him in his bedroom and keep him there until the brunet was able to knock some sense into the other, with words or with fists. But the reasonable side of Taichi knew that kidnapping Yamato from the hospital wouldn't bode well with anyone, and so, once again Taichi found himself at a loss for words. What could possibly be the right way to respond to thoughts on death from a person lying in a hospital bed, recovering from surgery and mourning the very recent loss of a close friend? Especially when the other was on painkillers and morphine and probably still had cocaine running through his system (another thing he chose not to think of at that moment lest he burst at the seams with worry[1]).

Taichi's skin felt cool under Yamato's heated palm. The blond looked at his best friend clutching at his hand, his best friend who seemed to be in so much pain over Yamato's mistakes.

An overriding sense of guilt for Taichi flooded the whirlpool of his mind and lulled the violent waters of his emotions.

And suddenly, Yamato felt a complete calm wash over him, locking his personal agony tightly in a box, and storing the key for later, as he watched one of the most important people in his life shake in agony.

"Taichi, I am so sorry." The burnet looked up, surprise and confusion registering in his features. "I'm sorry. I'm so so so sorry." His voice was rising and his body tensed.

Taichi just squeezed at Yamato's fingers harder.

"Yama, don't be sorry. Why are you sorry?" Taichi's voice was also starting to crack and his eyes started to water.

"I'm such an ass, Tai. I don't deserve you as a friend." The brunet started to protest, but Yamato continued, "I keep pushing you away, I keep treating you like shit and being a terrible friend, and here you are." He gestured in Taichi's general direction with his unoccupied hand. "…and here you are."

"Yamato, that's not true. You haven't pushed me away." That was somewhat false. But Taichi figured it wasn't the best time to deal with that particular issue.

"Yes it is, Tai!" he exclaimed and slipped his hand from the other's grip. "God, I've been a terrible friend. I've pushed you around, and I've taken advantage of you, I've lied to you, I've tried to drag you into my mess," he groaned, "oh God, so much for being the Chosen of Friendship."

"Yama. I'm here because I want to help you. I want to help you get better." Taichi breathed.

"But what if I can't?" Yamato looked down at his hands, which wrung together anxiously, and spoke again after a brief pause. "I'm afraid that I won't be able to." His sapphire eyes landed on the brunet again. "Taichi, it would be so much better for you to leave yourself out of my life. I don't want to drag you into all of it. I don't want to see you in as much pain as you're in right now."

Taichi abruptly got up from his chair and enclosed Yamato in a firm hug.

"Idiot,' he said, "you do fail at your crest, sometimes." He pulled back from the blond, who hadn't the chance to respond and gave a crooked half-grin, though his eyes held very little humor. "I'm still here, aren't I? If I was going to leave, I would have done so already." The brunet once again took a pale hand in his, prying it out of Yamato's own grasp. "I'll always be here. You're my _best friend_ and even if you decided to join a satanic cult or something, I'd still be here, waiting for you to come to your senses."

And finally, Taichi felt he had found the right words to say, however clichéd they may have been (because really, we all need a little bit of cliché in our lives now and then) because Yamato's lip twitched upwards.

_-if I could start again_

_a million miles away-_

Taichi's humor gave painful reminder of how things used to be; how they used to laugh together, to tease each other and make jokes at the other's expense, how they could talk for hours about absolutely nothing and could understand the most significant things without saying a word.

Yamato wished they could somehow go back to that. He wished he'd done things differently. He wished there was some way he could change the past couple of years: the weaknesses, the betrayals and the discoveries. Oh how different things could have been. And like a scene from a nearly forgotten movie, he could practically picture himself happy and not quite so alone, surrounded by friends and by family and by meaning in his life beyond getting the perfect high. At these thoughts, the blond felt the familiar claws regret clutch at his heart (the little box starting to crack open).

_-I would keep myself-_

But maybe, just maybe, regret wasn't the answer. Perhaps it was the intensity of Taichi's eyes on his, or the firmness of the other boy's grip, but he felt a glimmer of something brighter than the mass of the emotions looming in him, keeping that box shut.

At that thought, the door to his hospital room burst open, and a head of blond rushed to the bed, followed by a less eager brunette.

"Yamato!" Takeru cried, relief evident in his voice. The older blond returned his brother's hug.

Taichi exchanged glances with his own younger sibling, who smiled apprehensively at him. With her arms folded at her chest, she looked cautiously over to the two blonds, with tired, uneasy, yet hopeful eyes. She was not _quite _ready to forgive, not quite ready to forget the pain the older blond had caused.

But yes, maybe regret wasn't the answer.

_-I would find a way-_

_Fin._

[1]-Cocaine and morphine together is dangerous and can cause heart attacks, etc. oh those risky doctors.

I don't normally write from omniscient 3rd person, and just stick with limited. But I hoped this worked out okay. If it didn't, any criticism in that area would be greatly appreciated.

And I am aware that Yamato is self-pitying in this one. I hate self-pity, but I guess the situation kind of calls for it, no?

And I would just like to say that this scene and this song (this story was based so closely based on the song-listen to it) is what inspired me to come up with Picking up the Pieces.

Reviews and criticisms are appreciated. I'd love to hear what you think! Good, bad, neutral? Please tell me! : )


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